How Do You Feel About Air Travel?

I had a cousin killed in a big commercial plane crash (into the Florida Everglades) and used to say that I’d never get on a plane. But then in 1985 the Chronicle wanted to fly me out for interviews in San Francisco, so I went ahead and did it . . . then took the train back to the East Coast. 3 days sitting up.

Over the years I overcame it, but I’ve never been a good air traveler. And following some wake turbulence in the late 90s, I was a basket case on planes for the next two or three years.

I got better by employing my patented count to a 1000 method. As soon as the airplane would start speeding down the runway, I would close my eyes and start counting to a 1000. I wouldn’t open them until 1000, at which time we’d usually be at about 25,000 feet and I’d feel more or less OK.

In the last year or so, I’ve stopped counting. And recently I started realizing that, though I still am afraid of flying, I’m afraid of it the way one might be afraid of fun things, like roller coasters. Like I fear it just enough for it to be fun.

And today I had just a lovely flight from SFO to Orange County, on Virgin America. I was in — not first class, not coach, but this other thing in between which I got, believe it or not, for 10 bucks extra. Gorgeous day, a good book to read, a flight attendant who kept bringing drinks, about 100 movies to choose from, etc. I was actually sorry when we began our ascent.